Breakups are bad. Everybody knows this. The rise of long-term and de-facto relationships (especially so for same-sex couples for whom marriage is illegal in Australia), means that many breakups have to be considered with the same gravity as a divorce. Along with the all-encompassing heartbreak, the significant administrative hassles such as finding new homes and splitting up belongings and joint custody of the dogs – I would love to say that after that we owe social media absolutely nothing at all. The reality is, unfortunately, not the case. Social media has become a big part of the breakup.
In my own recent break up (eleven years, very sad, none of your business), I spent a good month or so alternating between the desire to delete every single part of my social media presence, or to get on it and have a big whinge. As someone who uses Facebook and Twitter every day, as both part of my social life and my job, the feeling of self-censoring was another difficulty. I had been used to expressing myself in pretty much whatever way I felt comfortable in the past, so it felt unnatural not to.
The thing is, as much as it is demonised as being a pit of trolls, abusers and meme-loving strangers, social media is actually best-viewed as a kind of weird digital net that catches all our friends, family, acquaintances and enemies. If you use social media, the unfortunate truth is that the things that happen in your life ripple through that net, regardless of whether you want them too. You can either attempt to control what goes through that ripple, or you can decide not to engage. But the fact is, even the act of NOT engaging on Facebook or Twitter can sometimes signify more than an actual post about a breakup – silence can be louder than words.
That feeling of self-censorship came from two main concerns:
The fact that "announcing" it would be another nail in the coffin of my relationship, that it would in some way make it even more 'real'. The reality of a breakup seems to come in waves; in things like telling your parents, moving out of your old house, and as I found, talking about it on Twitter.
And that I would then have to DISCUSS it with people, even well-meaning ones. A prospect that I didn't have the emotional or even physical energy to deal with at all.
In the end, I decided against a social media 'announcement'. I've seen them done before and I think it's entirely up to personal preference. I've seen the good natured ones – 'we've decided to go separate ways and we're still friends,'' and the spiteful ones, 'taking out the TRASH,' and the sad ones, 'will I ever be happy again?' I have no strong thoughts about any of them. Each to their own. But I knew that once you do that, your life and your tragedy becomes slightly more public. You have to be ready for that. In the old days, Facebook used to notify people that a couple had broken up, usually leading to a hundred friends commenting 'what?!' and a handful of thirsty acquaintances using an insincere sad-faced emoticon. Even now, clicking my Facebook status over to single was surprisingly hard.
Instead of an announcement, I simply started talking about the breakup as an event that had happened, in passing, and online. I waited until the moment it felt right, which is something that I encourage people to do. Something that spurred me to talk about it was the salt-in-the-wound feeling of being invited as a couple to things on Facebook, or being tagged together in photos or simply having people – who didn't and COULDN'T know better – refer to me and my ex as still together. And once we started telling people, I began to not want to have the same conversation every time I ran into a friend in public, and have them ask about the wellbeing of my now-ex. 'Good' I'd say, with the requisite sigh. 'But we broke up'. It's not that I don't want to tell these people, it's just that there's a more efficient way, and then I don't have to be reminded it every single time I go out.
But honestly, the largest motivating factor for wanting to start talking about it was an attempt to control my own narrative. It's not that I particularly care what people think about me, but I did want people to know in very vague terms what kind of breakup it was, that there was still good terms and people didn't have to try and pick sides or exclude people. I didn't want people's imaginations running wild, and filling in the gaps with crazy theories
But really, the reason why I think people should utilise social media when they're ready is that breakups can be lonely and isolating. They are desperately sad, and sometimes we don't know what we need. So when I started talking about it on Twitter – in a slightly joking-yet-emotional and truthful way – people started reaching out to me. They sidled into my DMs, or messaged me or emailed me or simply told me they were sorry.
They cajoled me into coming out to see them, or let me know they were waiting if I wanted to hang out. I was entirely surprised by how alone I felt, and then by how full of support my life suddenly was. But perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised. I'm not saying it fixed the breakup, or stopped me from being horrifically sad, and a little bit crazy. But it sure did help. It beat being alone when I didn't want to be alone. One of the most joyous experiences I've had recently was an impromptu, Twitter-organised drinks with a bunch of recently broken-up friends when I was on a work trip. It was fun sharing stories, and learning about all the things I can dread about being newly single. It's not so much that you owe social media anything, more that you can gain so much from sharing. If you want to.